


Eventually

by hannah_baker



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, and as Mean Girl's ratings notes would say 'some teen partying.', best friends and soulmates, teen boys making terrible plans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-07 17:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17964965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannah_baker/pseuds/hannah_baker
Summary: Mikey had a scheme to get Nate to kiss him. He'd rope his best friend (soulmate? life partner?) Dylan into a fake relationship to make Nate jealous. It was a flawless plan. Nothing could go wrong.





	Eventually

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gigantic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigantic/gifts).



> This is set in the summer of 2016, between Dylan's last two years with the Otters. It was the summer of Mikey's draft. 
> 
> Beta'd by [Auston](http://bisexualnerds.tumblr.com/). Thank you! Any residual bullshit is my own. 
> 
> This was written for Gigantic! I hope you enjoy it. Your notes on Dylan and Mikey sparked something for me, and I had a lot of fun writing this for you.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Mikey asked into the void of Dylan’s room. One day, Mikey would have his own bedroom at home, but he’d have to wait for his older brother to move the fuck out of his house first. Dylan was lucky his big brother was already gone. Functionally down the street, but far enough away to free up a bedroom so Dylan and his little brother didn’t have to share anymore. Mikey had basically moved in, because he’d rather share a room with his best friend than with his brother. 

 

“No you can’t,” Dylan said, from his spot on the floor, back pressed up against the bed, facing the TV. Mikey had been laying on his stomach on Dylan’s bed, but he’d flipped onto his back when they’d tossed their controllers down, sick of Call of Duty for the moment. They were shirtless, the bedsheets still messy from their indefinite sleepover. His face was very close to Dylan’s, just upside down and hanging off the edge of the bed. “Tell me your dumb secret.” 

 

“Sometimes in the summer, I miss hockey so much it hurts. Sometimes it feels like I’m not really myself because I’m not hitting the rink every day, I’m not with my team.” 

 

“That’s not a secret. Everyone feels that way,” Dylan said, reaching up next to him to touch Mikey on the tip of his nose. It felt like both a tease and a comfort. That’s why he was telling Dylan to begin with. Because he knew Dylan would try to make him feel better about it. Dylan always made him feel better. 

 

“The secret is that sometimes I don’t miss it at all. Like, sometimes, I wish it would just all go away so I could go to college and get, like, a day job.” 

 

“Fuck,” Dylan said. “I mean, I don’t think you’re the only one who has ever felt that way either, bud.” Dylan shifted so that he could rest his head against Mikey’s shoulder. He was close enough for Mikey to smell. He smelled like home. 

 

“I just mean—” Mikey could barely say the words out loud. Like once he said them, they couldn’t be unsaid. He was scared of admitting it out loud, even to Dylan. 

 

“You mean that you miss Nate so much it hurts, and erasing hockey would erase that?”

 

“Fuck,” Mikey said. Dylan was his best friend on the whole planet earth. No one got Mikey the way Dylan did. “Is it that fucking obvious?” 

 

“Maybe not to anyone else, but to me, yeah. Also, I fell asleep last night listening to you talk about Nate’s hair, so...” It was obvious to Dylan because Dylan listened. He also knew the pain of missing a teammate you have feelings for better than anyone else. It wasn’t really something he wished on his friend, but in that moment, he was glad Dylan got it. That he didn’t have to go through the embarrassment of explaining it to someone who wouldn’t be sympathetic. Dylan wasn’t only sympathetic, but kind of pathetic. At least lately. He came home for the summer, and it seemed like the fight had gone out of him. Mikey wondered if it was McDavid related.  

 

“Nate has soft hair,” Mikey said, hung up on the conversation from the night before, now that Dylan brought it up. How it doesn’t look like it’s going to be soft, and then it is. It felt important. 

 

“You think maybe he likes you, though?” Dylan asked, ignoring Mikey’s hair comment. They’d talked about this before, but part of being best friends meant treading the same paths over and over, analyzing the situation to death. 

 

“He’s the most touchy-feely person I’ve ever met, and it feels like it’s specifically with me. Maybe with Nylander a little too, but like, me mostly. I’ve held his hand. I’ve sat on his lap. We’ve spooned.” 

 

“Yeah, already heard all about the spooning,” Dylan said, dryly. Mikey had lost count of the number of times he and Dylan had spooned. They just fit in Dylan’s bed better that way. It was platonic, but Mikey couldn’t ignore the fact that he slept better when being spooned. He always slept better in Dylan's bed. 

 

“Spooning is amazing,” Mikey declared. 

 

“Okay, so you want Nate to spoon you again, but like, with feelings. How are you going to do that?”

 

“Gotta get him to Sagua probably since he’s so weird about Kitchener.” 

 

“How is he weird about Kitchener?” 

 

“I think he just feels like hockey belongs in Sagua, you know? I dunno, he doesn’t really invite people over to his parents' house ever.” 

 

“Okay, so whatever on that. Invite him over here.” Dylan shrugged like it was so easy, but if inviting your teammate you have feelings for over was so easy, then Mikey couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t seen McDavid all summer. The summer before, Dylan and McDavid were inseparable. Dylan followed him around with heart eyes for three solid months. Something wasn’t adding up there for Mikey. 

 

“And then what?” Mikey asked instead. 

 

“What do you mean, and then what? Take him on a date or something. If it seems like he’s interested in you, try to kiss him.” 

 

“That could be a disaster, dude. I might ruin a relationship that I contractually cannot escape. I don’t want to do that to him.” 

 

“Then you’re at an impasse, man.” 

 

Mikey’s phone buzzed in his pocket. By the time he pulled it free from his pants, he had three new texts, and a fourth came in as he was getting caught up on the McLeod boys group text. He apparently hadn’t felt his phone buzz in a while. 

 

“Mom and Dad are out of town this weekend. Matt wants to throw a party,” Mikey told Dylan who nodded vigorously. He responded to his brothers—an enthusiastic  _ yes _ along with instructions to move the discussion into the McLeod/Strome group text. That wasn’t shit they’d do without the Stromes. 

 

Dylan’s phone started buzzing along with his. 

 

“So there you go,” Dylan said. “Problem solved. Invite him to the party. Pretend to get a little drunk and then kiss him. And if he kisses back, cool. If he doesn’t, then like, you were drunk and you can just move on with your lives.” 

 

“That’s the worst plan I’ve ever heard,” Mikey said. 

 

“What’s your plan then?” 

 

“Probably...pretend to get drunk so I can kiss Nater without it being a serious, friendship-ruining move.” 

 

“Atta boy. Ready for another round?” Dylan asked, picking up Mikey’s controller from the floor and thumping it down on his chest. Mikey rolled over onto his stomach. 

 

“I don’t know why you bother, man. I’m just gonna crush you.” 

 

\---

 

Mikey spent the week texting and Snapchatting Nate. They weren’t that much more than an hour away. Mikey wasn’t sure why they didn’t hang out more. Maybe Nate just needed a break from Sagua. It didn’t feel like he needed a break from Mikey if the hour-by-hour Snaps Nate was sending him were anything to go by. 

 

Nate’s feet in flip-flops. Nate’s ice cap from Tim’s. Nate’s neighbor’s dog. Nate making a face after taking a bite out of a lemon for some reason. Just nonsense basically. Nonsense Mikey wished he could screenshot and keep forever, at least when it came to the selfies. Fuck, he missed Nate’s face. Nate always looked like he was about to get into trouble, and something about that just turned Mikey on. 

 

\---

 

“I think we should raise the heat,” Mikey told Dylan on Friday, the day before the party. They were aimlessly driving around in Mikey’s little red Toyota, eating their McDonald’s after going through the drive-thru. Mikey and Dylan were both in a chicken nuggets phase, and they had started with literally forty chicken nuggets in the car with them. The woman handing them their order through the car window had given them a worried look. 

 

“I’m more in favor of the air conditioning right now,” Dylan said, messing with the controls a little to get it blowing colder. It was hot out.  

 

“No you idiot, I mean for tomorrow.” 

 

“In what way?” Dylan asked, dipping a chicken nugget in ranch and carefully feeding it to Mikey. He was driving, okay? Having Dylan feed him was a safety issue. It was too hard to do nugget sauce when driving. 

  
“I don’t want to force Nate to kiss me because I’m drunk. I want to like, cue his true feelings for me another way. Get my kiss, but because he wants to kiss me instead of because his friend is drunk.” Sometimes Mikey referred to Nate as his ‘best friend,’ but never in front of Dylan. He’d never do that to Dylan. Mikey was headed to the nursing home with Dyl. With Nate...it still felt new. ‘Best friend’ fit for Nate most of the time. At least when they were playing hockey. Dylan was closer to something like ‘lifelong friend.’ Or maybe ‘soulmate,’ or something. Dylan was his  _ person _ . “Like, maybe make him think he’s at risk of losing me as a potential lover.” 

 

“Never, under any circumstances, use the word ‘lover’ again, gross,” Dylan laughed. He offered Mikey another nugget, but Mikey still had so much to say that he waved Dylan off. Dylan ate it instead. 

  
“Just like, I want him to see me with someone else and feel like his territory is being threatened.” 

 

“You want to make him jealous,” Dylan clarified.  

 

“Yeah. I like it better than the drunk plan honestly because if I can convince him to kiss me, it’ll clear up a lot of potential next-day confusion. I dunno.” 

 

“Okay. Yeah, that does sound like a better plan.” Dylan sounded like he actually agreed with him. And since Dylan thought it would work, Mikey felt more confident. 

 

“Thank you for admitting I’m right,” Mikey said, just to get a rise out of Dylan. Dylan rolled his eyes, looked at him in that long-suffering way you use to look at your life long friend. Soulmate? Life partner? Mikey was still working on their classification. Dylan just stuffed another chicken nugget into his mouth. 

 

“Okay, so who are you making him jealous with?” Dylan asked through his chicken nugget. 

 

“You, duh,” Mikey said. Dylan was the obvious choice. He was already in on the situation, knew what was going on. Mikey had slept in Dylan’s bed every night for the past two weeks, not to mention countless other nights throughout their lives. They were already comfortable enough with each other that they could be handsy with each other and make it look believable. 

 

And even though they didn’t talk about it ever, Dylan and Mikey had been each other’s first kiss. So. That counted for something, right? Mikey felt warm the way he always did when he thought of their first kiss together. It had been sweet and chaste, interrupted by one of their brothers, like every other part of their combined lives. 

 

Dylan didn’t even hesitate. “No.” 

 

“What, is McDavid going to make it? Will you be too busy following him around all night?”

 

“Hey, be nice,” Dylan snapped, and Mikey was decent enough to feel some shame about it. “No, um, Connor isn’t coming.” He sounded disappointed. Mikey bet that he’d feel exactly the same way that Dylan was feeling if Nate had turned down his invitation. 

 

“So be my fake boyfriend,” Mikey said. “It’ll be fun. Just like, hold my hand and put your arm around me and when Nate looks at us, kiss my cheek. I dunno. Hold my drink. Be a little possessive.” 

 

Dylan sighed. “I’m going to just end up agreeing to this, aren’t I?” 

 

“Yeah, bud, so you might as well get on board. Work on your acting skills in case you ever get a sponsorship deal and have to be in a commercial.” 

 

Dylan flat-out laughed at that. “Yeah, I’m sure they give a bunch of washed up OHL guys big commercial deals.” 

 

“Shut up. You’ll make the show this year.” Mikey was sure of it. He had no doubt. Dylan was his favorite hockey player. He would be amazing in Arizona come fall. 

 

“Stop buttering me up, I already agreed,” Dylan said with a heavy sigh, tossing his empty McNugget box into the car’s wheel well, despite Mikey having a plastic grocery bag sitting down there somewhere for trash. Mikey wasn’t complaining, however, if Dylan was on board. 

 

\---

 

By Saturday, the boys were ready for the party. They had beer and some shitty vodka and a lot of snacks that were either chips or something that resembled chips. They weren’t sophisticated and they didn’t care. 

 

The McLeods and the Stromes were all in the McLeod living room, kind of waiting for things to get started. Dylan’s Ryan was there, even though he was a little too old for this kind of party. It may not really be his scene anymore, but Mikey could tell how happy it made Dylan and Matt to have their oldest brother around. Ryan was just old enough that Dylan and Matt kind of worshipped him. 

 

Mikey didn’t feel the same way about his older brother, that was for sure, but having Ryan there put Dylan in this cute, happy mood that made Mikey feel good too. He couldn’t look at Dylan smiling wide and not match his smile. 

 

“So just to get you guys on the same page so you don’t ruin our genius plan,” Mikey said. “Dylan is going to pretend to be my boyfriend to make Nate jealous enough to kiss me.” 

 

There was a collective groan that rang out, and Matt Strome said ‘ _ Jesus Christ _ ’ under his breath. 

 

“Okay, whatever,” Matt McLeod said, giving his middle brother a heavily arched eyebrow. 

 

“In a few years, you’ll be out of the woods when it comes to this kind of fucking drama,” Ryan Strome said, taking a sip of a Moulson like he was soooooo much older and wiser than the rest of them. Fucking older brothers. 

 

“Just don’t fuck it up for me,” Mikey said. “Trying to get laid here. I’m sure you all understand the urgency.” 

 

“That I can get on board with,” Mikey’s Ryan said, leaning over to fist bump Mikey. 

 

“This is a guy who gets it. Okay, people are arriving. Dylan, be my boyfriend and help me greet our guests,” Mikey said, grabbing Dylan’s hand.

 

\---

 

It was a perfect summer night. There was a soft breeze, and it was daylight forever, and Mikey had his third or fourth beer in his hand, Dylan’s arm thrown around his shoulder. They were in the basement in a circle of guys who were discussing how their summers were going so far, and Nate was there. Nate was so fucking beautiful, so fucking tall, like, as-tall-as-Dylan tall. Mikey wanted to tuck up under his arm the way he was curled into Dylan. 

 

Still, being Dylan’s fake boyfriend so far hadn’t been bad. Dylan was a good hand-holder (who knew that was a thing?) and made Mikey feel warm and loved. It wasn’t too different from just being Dylan’s friend, but he got to experience how strong Dylan’s body felt under his t-shirt a little more first hand, and he wasn’t complaining about what he found there. He stuck a hand up Dylan’s shirt for good measure and Dylan giggled at the contact, pressed a kiss to his cheek. Mikey smiled, happy to have Dylan so close to him like this. It was so nice. 

 

When Mikey looked up at Nater, he was giving Mikey this weird soft smile that just...didn’t look jealous at all. Nate looked happy for him. Fuck.  _ Fuck  _ this wasn’t going to plan. 

 

Mikey pulled Dylan away into a corner for a quick meeting of the minds. 

 

“This isn’t working,” Mikey said, bouncing on his feet. Dylan steadied him with his hands on Mikey’s waist. Mikey wasn’t sure the right idea was to have Dylan touch him  _ more, _ but he didn’t know what else to do now. And honestly, the hands on his waist did help him calm down. 

 

“We could stage a fight, have him comfort you?” Dylan suggested. 

 

“Yeah, yeah that could work.” Mikey looked over at the group of guys they’d been standing with, and Nate was gone. “Where did he go?” 

 

Mikey drifted away from Dylan unconsciously, taking a quick scan of the room without finding Nate. He was easy to pick out in a crowd between how fucking tall he was, his hair, and his eyebrows. Mikey really liked Nate’s eyebrows. What was wrong with him? 

 

He headed upstairs, first into the kitchen to see if Nate was getting another beer, and then into the living room when he still didn’t find him. And then there he was. His beautiful Nate, sitting on the couch next to a girl Mikey didn’t recognize, sliding a hand up her thigh. Leaning in to kiss her. There was Mikey’s Nate kissing a girl. He wanted to vomit. 

 

He turned to get the fuck away from what he was seeing and ran directly into Dylan’s chest. Dylan had come after him. Of course Dylan had come after him. Dylan was always there for him. 

 

“Oh, fuck,” Dylan said, wrapping his arms around Mikey tight. He’d obviously seen what Mikey had seen. Mikey had to just. He just needed to get out of there. 

 

Mikey pushed past Dylan, then out the front door. He wasn’t sure where he was going but just like...not there anymore. He heard footsteps behind him, and he didn’t have to look at who it was to know. It wasn’t Nate, that’s for sure. It was Dylan. It was always Dylan. 

 

Mikey stopped at the end of his driveway, hot tears spilling down his face. He was  _ so fucking embarrassed, _ so hurt, so...he didn’t even know. All his emotions were clashing inside of him and all he knew was how bad it felt. Like he could barely breathe. 

 

Dylan took one look at him, wiped the tears off his face with his thumbs. He stayed close, leaning his forehead against Mikey’s, his hands on the sides of Mikey’s face, just holding him. Mikey didn’t know if he’d ever felt this terrible before, a wave of darkness engulfing him. But he was glad Dylan was here with him. A lifesaver thrown from the bow of a ship. 

 

“Let’s go back to mine,” Dylan said. Mikey nodded and they headed down the street to Dylan’s house, Dylan’s arm around Mikey’s shoulders. 

 

They walked in the front door and Trish greeted them from the kitchen, her eyebrows doing a worried mom thing. 

 

“We’re gonna go play video games, Mom,” Dylan told her, and she let them go, maybe sensing that Mikey wasn’t in a mood to talk. He had no idea what he looked like, but he did know how red his eyes got when he cried. 

 

“Let me know if you need snacks,” she said, but she was already in her pajamas, cup of tea in hand. They’d let her go to bed. 

 

Mikey climbed the stairs to Dylan’s room after him and closed the door behind them. Dylan’s room looked like all their rooms did. Hockey posters, hockey trophies, hockey memories. When they were kids, hockey bed sheets. 

 

Dylan’s sheets now were navy blue, and Dylan just stripped his jeans off and yanked at one of Mikey’s belt loops to do the same. Then Dylan crawled into his bed and lifted the sheets as an invitation for Mikey. He crawled in after him, like he had almost every other night that summer. 

 

This time though, Dylan wrapped him up tight, letting Mikey rest his head on Dylan’s chest instead of the usual spooning. Mikey couldn’t help himself. He let out a sob, the moment of stillness in Dylan’s bed just enough for his feelings to rage back up. He couldn’t catch his breath as he heaved sob after sob. He just clung to Dylan’s shirt, let Dylan slowly stroke his back, hold onto his neck. 

 

Dylan was tangible and warm and  _ home _ , and Mikey couldn’t imagine being anywhere else with anyone else at that moment. 

 

“Fuck, I just really thought that he liked me too. There’s no way I would have tried this shit tonight if I didn’t think he liked me. I was too scared to kiss him first but I thought for sure that he would kiss me.” Mikey knew he sounded like an idiot, but if you couldn’t be an idiot in front of your best fucking friend, who the hell could you be an idiot in front of?

 

“Well, he’s an idiot for missing out on this,” Dylan said, giving him a pat between the shoulder blades. “Plus, it looks like, maybe he’s straight, which is no one's fault.” 

 

“How did I not know he was straight? We’ve been lineys for two years, and he just  _ doesn’t talk about girls.  _ What else does that mean in a hockey locker room other than you are gay as shit?”

 

“I dunno, man. This just fucking sucks, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re not kissing Nate right now.” Dylan was giving Mikey a look that was hard to read. Like maybe he wasn’t sorry about Mikey not kissing Nate, but that he was sorry he was sad. 

 

Mikey sighed. He was still shaking a little from crying, but it had felt good. Cathartic. He felt a little better, if not like,  _ good _ , now that the initial shock of it had passed. He shoved himself up on an elbow, looked down at where Dylan was laying. Dylan still had one arm around Mikey’s waist, and a soft two-beers-in relaxed kind of look on his face. He still had his fucking snapback on, brown curls sticking out from the edges. 

 

“It’s fucking fine,” Mikey said. He took a deep breath. Dylan’s arm tightened around his waist. It was comforting. Mikey flopped back to the mattress, laid his head on the pillow next to Dylan. “When did you give up on McDavid?” 

 

Dylan took a breath. Closed his eyes. “We, um. I never told you this, because it fucking sucked. But last November when Connor broke his collarbone, you know?” 

 

“Yeah, I know.” You couldn’t play hockey anywhere on the planet and not know about Connor McDavid’s collarbone. 

 

“When he was healing, the Oilers let him take some time and come back home. And he came to stay with me in Erie a bit, actually. We got a hotel for three or four days. I like, still did hockey, but as little as possible, skipped whatever I could. Coach was pissed. But Connor was so fucking broken, so upset. And he came to me, out of every person on the planet, right?” 

 

“Okay,” Mikey said, watching disappointment color Dylan’s face as he told him. Mikey reached a hand up to Dylan’s face, stroked his cheek a bit, slid his snapback off his head so he could thread his fingers through his soft curls. 

 

“We um, had a thing I guess. Just for a few days. It was real. What I felt was real, at least.” 

 

“But not for him?” 

 

“I thought so. And then he went back to Newmarket. And then he went back to Edmonton. And um, he stopped responding to my texts pretty quickly there.” 

 

“He just ghosted you?” Mikey felt a surge of anger at McDavid. Mikey had never been as keen on him as the rest of the hockey world had been, and he felt a little vindicated in his lukewarm feelings. Anyone who would treat Dylan like that was garbage. 

 

“I think he...didn’t think things through when he was hurting.”

 

“And so he hurt you.” 

 

“Yeah,” Dylan said. He had such a deep-set sadness in his face that Mikey would have done anything in the whole entire world in order to cheer him up. 

 

“Jesus” Mikey whispered. “Dyl.” 

 

“It’s fine, that was the beginning of me getting over Connor McDavid, and it’s been like, what seven months now? It’s okay. I had my thing for Connor McDavid, and now it’s over and I’m okay.” 

 

“You didn’t tell me.” That was what hurt the most. Just the fact that Dylan had kept something like this from him. 

 

“You were in your fucking draft year. I didn’t want to distract you.” The way Dylan looked at Mikey when he said this was with his softest eyes. Like Mikey was something he wanted to protect. Nate had never looked at him like that. 

 

“There is nothing in my life more important than you. Not hockey, not fucking draft year. Shit, I thought you knew that,” Mikey said. And that was the truth, wasn’t it? Dylan was his—his everything, really. He felt on fire when he was with Nate, like he’d been doused with gasoline. But with Dylan, it was a campfire that burned evenly and kept getting stoked. 

 

Mikey hadn’t noticed how close they were, but they were almost nose-to-nose, on the same fucking pillow. Dylan’s hand was still on his waist. Mikey’s was on the side of Dylan’s head, holding him close. Dylan was just lying there smiling at him like Mikey was the only boy in the whole world, and Mikey leaned in closer, slowly, slowly closing the gap between their lips. 

 

Dylan’s hand gripped at Mikey’s waist when their lips made contact, and Mikey pulled back, a spiral of  _ shit did I fuck this up too _ spinning fast in his head before Dylan whined in the back of his throat and closed the distance between them in order to kiss him again. 

 

Dylan’s mouth just felt  _ good _ , and he tasted good, even though the beer. Two kisses became three became four became Dylan’s tongue in his mouth, Dylan holding onto him close, pushing him onto his back so he could get at Mikey’s neck. 

 

“Mikey,” Dylan said when he finally pulled back, breathing hard. 

 

“Holy shit,” Mikey said, mouth hanging open, a thousand thoughts and feelings bursting out of him. He loved Dylan  _ so fucking much _ but he didn’t realize he liked Dylan like  _ this.  _ But he had the weight of Dylan’s body on him, warm under the covers. He knew what Dylan’s tongue felt like in his mouth—like a fucking miracle. He knew how good it felt to wake up next to Dylan, to have Dylan’s hand in his. Nate fucking  _ who _ . Had it been Dylan all along? Had it always, always been Dylan? 

 

“Good holy shit, please,” Dylan said, his face so hopeful. He was smiling shyly, face relaxed and bright like McDavid had never existed, and he was beautiful. Mikey’s hand came up to cup Dylan’s cheek, stroke the little stubble that looked super awful, but Mikey didn’t even care. 

 

“Good holy shit,” Mikey confirmed, and even though it was midnight, even though the night was pitch black around them, it was like the sun fucking rose on Dylan’s face, his smile big and dumb and dopey, until Mikey reeled him back in for another kiss. 

 

They made out until their lips were sore from it, and Mikey couldn’t remember the last time he even wanted to kiss someone for this long. When they collapsed next to each other, they were both shaking from excitement, from adrenaline and cortisol rushing through their veins, from the elation of something between them clicking and feeling absolutely and in every way perfect. 

 

Dylan couldn’t keep his lips off of Mikey, scooting the extra inch closer he needed to in order to plant another one on him, then another. 

 

“I can’t believe you’re letting me kiss you like this, Jesus,” Dylan said, breath warm on Mikey’s lips. It was summer in Mississauga and it was beautiful and hot, but Trish loved her air conditioning, so the Strome house was always chilly. It just served to highlight how nice it felt to be pressed flush against Dylan’s whole entire body, hard-on and all. 

 

“When did you get so fucking good at kissing?” Mikey asked. “You weren’t that good the first time I kissed you.” 

 

“When we were thirteen? Yeah, I’ve had some practice since then I guess,” Dylan said, dryly. 

 

“I didn’t know I needed this,” Mikey said honestly. They were tangled together, and Mikey never wanted to have to sort their limbs out ever again. 

 

“I know you didn’t,” Dylan said laughing a bit.

 

“Did you?” Mikey asked, raising his eyebrows at Dylan. 

 

“I told my mom when I was thirteen that I wanted to marry you,” Dylan said. “And I’m not sure that ever went away, even through whatever other shit I had going on.” 

 

“And you pretended to be my boyfriend so I could kiss another boy?” Mikey wasn’t sure if that made Dylan selfless, or someone who just really, really loved pain. Maybe a bit of both for Dylan, honestly. 

 

“Well, honestly that part wasn’t very fun. But I figured if it did work out with Nate, we would always find our way back to each other eventually, no matter what.”

 

“That’s kind of romantic,” Mikey said. 

 

“I’m kind of a romantic guy,” Dylan said. Mikey had a hard time believing it until he thought about it. Dylan did a thousand little things to make Mikey feel special from making sure there were enough Ranch sauce packets in their McDonald’s order for all of Mikey’s chicken nuggets to buying the beer Mikey liked even though Dylan hated it, to trying to help Mikey kiss his crush. And maybe it wasn’t red roses or anything, but yeah. Maybe he could see it, when he thought about it. 

 

“And you were in it for the long game.” 

 

“Yeah,” Dylan said, nudging Mikey’s nose with his own. He kissed him again, lips lazy against Mikey’s as they caught and released, caught again. “Are you doing okay? I know how much it hurts to watch someone you’re into kiss someone else.” 

 

“Huh?” Mikey asked, a little lost. 

 

“Nate, tonight,” Dylan reminded him. Shit, had Mikey already forgotten about Nate? It had only been like, an hour since they left the party but it felt like a thousand years. 

  
“Yeah, whatever,” Mikey said laughing. “I am not even thinking about Nater right now. How could I be thinking about him right now?” 

 

Dylan’s smile was soft and loving. “It makes me really happy to hear you say that, I’m not going to lie.”

 

“Kissing your best friend. Wow,” Mikey said.  

 

“Yeah?” Dylan said, pressing another kiss to Mikey’s lips. Mikey wanted to quit hockey and take up professional making out at this point, shit. 

 

“Five stars, would recommend.” 

 

Dylan just looked at him, and Mikey could see the love in his eyes. Had that always been there? Had he just been too stupid to see it? 

 

“Can I stay here tonight?” Mikey asked. 

 

“If you get out of my bed right now, I’ll have you arrested, I swear,” Dylan said, pulling Mikey close to him, half on him, so Mikey’s head was pillowed on Dylan’s bicep, Dylan’s arm curled around his shoulders. He could feel the tips of Dylan’s fingers trail up and down the curve of his shoulder and it made him shiver. 

 

\---

 

Mikey woke up early with the sun as it poured in through Dylan’s window. Before he even opened his eyes, he could feel Dylan’s body, still there, still pressed against him, front to front. Dylan had a hand up Mikey’s t-shirt, thumb sweeping back and forth on his lower back so gently. Mikey was so warm and relaxed and happy. 

 

When he let his eyes flutter open after a few moments of soaking in Dylan’s hands on him, Dylan was already awake, like he was waiting for him. 

 

“Hi,” Mikey said, voice morning rough. 

 

“Hey.” Dylan’s smile was shy, so Mikey leaned in to kiss him, just to let him know it wasn’t some weird  _ a-little-drunk _ thing, or some weird emotional hangover thing. It seemed to reassure him a bit. Mikey was rewarded with Dylan’s hand on his cheek, his thumb pressed into the corner of his smile. “Good morning.” 

 

“It is, isn’t it? What time is it?” 

 

“I dunno, my phone is in my pants I think.” 

 

Mikey flipped around to reach the crumpled piles of their pants on the floor, fished both of their phones out of pockets. He handed off Dylan’s before taking a look at his own, his battery level pretty critical. 

 

He had a few texts from Nate from late the night before, wondering where he was, and one from this morning too.  _ Hope you disappeared cause you got some. We’ll have to hang soon so you can tell me about your boy. _

 

Mikey smiled.  _ His boy.  _ Of course Nate knew a thousand details about Dylan as his best friend, but he didn’t know about Dylan in the context of being Mikey’s boyfriend. Those were different details. “I wanna send a selfie to Nate,” Mikey said, and arranged the two of them so they were spooning, Dylan’s chin hooked over Mikey’s shoulder. They had a thousand photos of the two of them together, but this is the first one that looked like this. Intimate. It was disarming how good Mikey thought they looked together, like this. He took like, a dozen pictures so he had some to choose from. And just because he wanted a fucking dozen of them. Fuck, he  _ loved _ spooning. 

 

“That’s cute. Send it to me too,” Dylan said, as he watched Mikey compose his message to Nate. Just a ‘ _ Yeah got some. Looked like maybe you did too? _ ’

 

“You’re really not heartbroken about him?” Dylan asked, worry in his voice. Mikey got it. If he was Dylan he’d maybe be a little insecure too. 

 

“Nate was just...an idea. I don’t know how to explain it. Nate is great, and I’m glad he’s on my line and everything, and I’m glad he’s my bud. But I couldn’t ever have what I have with you with Nate. Does that make sense?” 

 

“And what do you have with me?” Dylan said, raising his eyebrows at him. 

 

“I think you’re my soulmate,” Mikey said. He wasn’t sure if it was too soon to say that, but Dylan had told him the night before that he wanted to marry Mikey. If he couldn’t come on strong to Dylan, what was even the point? 

 

“You’re mine,” Dylan said. His voice was thick, and then his lips were on Mikey’s again. The Strome/McLeod group text started blowing up. The call to come help clean up had officially been issued. Mikey tossed his phone off the edge of the bed and onto the carpet, and Dylan followed suit. They’d come help clean up eventually. But maybe not right now. 

  
  



End file.
